


Midnight Clear

by fajrdrako



Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fajrdrako/pseuds/fajrdrako
Summary: Christmas is a time for reflection and revelation.
Relationships: William Bodie/Ray Doyle
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Midnight Clear

Bodie and Jennifer drove to Somerset on the Tuesday before Christmas. Because Bodie was doing the driving, they went very fast, and sang parodies of Christmas carols all the way, making them up when they ran out of songs. They arrived in time for supper, which made everyone very cheerful, even the dog, Sassafras.

Bodie had thought carefully before accepting the invitation to spend Christmas with Jennifer Black's family. He had already met them. Colonel Barrett, M.P., who was acquainted with Cowley, was a quick-witted man of no pretensions, despite considerable accomplishments. His wife was as pleasant as her daughter.

He had always wanted to have Christmas, a real Christmas such as he had read about in books or seen on television. As he aged, the possibility seemed more and more distant. This was an opportunity to experience what a family Christmas really was, among people he liked.

When Bodie set himself to be charming, few women could resist him. Despite his reputation as a lady's man, he got along well with girlfriends' mothers. Sometimes they clearly thought him wasted on their daughter. At other times, he was the son they wished they had. He measured well against the men in their lives.

Jennifer's mother Patricia was a person he might befriend for her own sake, even if he had never known Jennifer.

Their home in Somerset was picturesque, being old and large without being snotty. There was a roaring fire in the hearth, and they had a real piano, which both Jennifer and her mother played with the casual skill of those who could take it for granted. Bodie joined in on their carols and allowed himself to be persuaded to show off his talents on the guitar. He was embarrassed at first. In the end he enjoyed himself more than he would have thought possible, getting into the spirit.

Doyle would enjoy this, he thought. He's better at it than I am.

That was the twenty-third of December. On Christmas Eve the neighbours would be visiting. On Christmas Day, the family would be there. This turned out to mean Jennifer's married brother and two married sisters and their motley offspring.

Bodie and Jennifer had been given separate bedrooms, in deference to parental responsibility. Bodie was not much bothered. Sleeping two doors down the hall, Jennifer was accessible. She went to bed when he was still browsing a copy of her mother's "Poetry for All Seasons".

Some time later, he looked up and saw that Patricia was still there. "Excuse me," he said, closing the book with a snap. "I must have lost track of the time. I hope I wasn't keeping you up."

"Not at all," she said. "I wanted to ask you something. About Jennifer."

He waited politely, dreading it.

"Is she in love with you?"

"She hasn't said so," said Bodie.

"Not to me."

"Nor to me."

"But you.... Forgive me, but you are sleeping together, aren't you?"

"Did she say so?"

"No. Am I wrong?"

Bodie gave her a neutral, unrevealing smile.

"Are you going to dodge all my questions?"

"Only the ones I find embarrassing."

She laughed. "I do see what Jennifer sees in you. Let me tell you frankly, Bodie, I think my daughter is in love with you. She thinks... your relationship is limited, not long-lasting. She says you are not the marrying kind."

"That much is true."

"Please don't hurt her."

"I try not to hurt anyone. I value Jennifer. I wouldn't want you to think I take her friendship -- or her love -- lightly. I also believe her when she says she believes I will never marry."

"You are sure of that?"

"Absolutely."

She looked curiously at him. "Why? How can anyone be so sure? Suppose you fall in love one day?"

Bodie was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I fell in love once. Never again."

"A broken heart?"

"A damaged one."

"It can heal."

"No," said Bodie.

The twenty-fourth of December was a day to remember. It was full of all the activities Bodie had heard about and read about but never shared in. Activities like wrapping presents and putting them under the tree. Like making a yule log cake, a long tradition in the household, and hanging mistletoe -- several of Jennifer's friends insisted on testing it on Bodie, with a great deal of laughter. There was some last-minute shopping (it snowed) and Bodie told ghost stories to the neighbours' son while the women made dinner.

After dinner, they watched "Oliver"on television, and played charades.

When it was over, and the neighbours had left, and the laughter and the singing was quiet, Bodie said good-night and went to his room.

He had been lucky, he supposed, to get a holiday at Christmas. This year, he had worked when Doyle took leave to take that art course in Paris in November. Now Doyle was on duty over Christmas. He had teased him. That was part of the fun. Then it was off to Somerset and the plum puddings.

But a part of him was back in Whitehall. Wondering if Cowley had Doyle and the others out on a job, or just filling in time while the world celebrated. Nothing would be open in London. Nothing would be happening, if the gangsters and the enemy agents and the terrorists were behaving themselves quietly.

He had worked over Christmas, often enough. Christmas meant little enough to him. Not even enough that he felt its lack. It was a concept other people enjoyed. Nothing he needed. Except for that sense of curiosity, of wanting to see what others enjoyed, that had brought him this year to Somerset.

Even now, much as he was enjoying the food and the friendliness and the spirit of hospitality, his thoughts were with CI5. One year he'd been on that surveillance case over Christmas -- and a more miserable time he had never had. Another year, he had been stuck at HQ with the lads on duty, making party streamers out of paper clips and telling rude jokes.

All day, his mind had run over what might be happening at CI5. There was no routine, never any routine, so he could only guess. A briefing by Cowley; some research, perhaps, on current cases -- surely not even the Cow would be so cruel as to force Doyle to work on records, which he hated, at Christmas. Cowley himself never took Christmas off. He might, if he felt inclined, with no case pending, invite Doyle for a single malt in his office. Bodie wondered what they would talk about. With those two, it could be anything.

He found he missed it fiercely. Everything, from the smell of the wax on the floors to the absurdities of the battle against crime.

More acutely, he missed Doyle. All day he had wanted to talk to him, tell him what was going on, his conscious mind only one step behind the inclination. Why would Doyle be interested to hear about the decorations on the tree, the joke Colleen had told, the details of a small-town High Street? Unlike Bodie, Doyle had celebrated Christmas for many years. There was nothing new about it for him.

So why did a small town in Somerset make him think of Doyle?

The answer hit him like a blow.

Off-balanced by his thoughts, he tried desperately to remember when he had last been somewhere, last done something, without Doyle. Voluntarily. On his own. Something besides sex (and it was better not to think about sex for a moment) or sleeping. It had been a while. Weeks.

He wondered, in something like panic, whether Doyle was getting tired of him. Must be a drain, to have one's partner underfoot all the time.

But Doyle seemed to like it as much as he did.

No, that wasn't possible.

But he seemed not to mind it. Which probably meant he hadn't noticed that Bodie was acting like a lovesick idiot. Of course, Bodie himself hadn't noticed.

Till now.

He was a fool.

Questions he could neither face nor answer pelted through his brain. He let them flow, like interrogation from an enemy agent. The enemy agent within himself.

"Suppose you fall in love one day?" Patricia had asked him. He had been so sure of the answer. He had thought it impossible. And here he was, already in love. He should have said, "It has happened already. I love a man I am already tied to with more ties than marriage, to whom I owe more than I could owe any woman."

He should have said, "Your question is too late."

He should have said, "My heart was damaged, so I never saw what was happening to it. I forgot what love can be."

He could not answer the other questions, the important ones. The questions like: What now?

He was still lying awake when Jennifer came into his room. "Are you asleep?" she whispered.

"No," he said, and took her in his arms. But his mind was full of Doyle and their kiss seemed false and she said, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

They cuddled companionably. Never had he felt less interested in sex with the person in his arms. If it were Doyle... oh, god.

He fell asleep soon after that. He slept restlessly. Jennifer left his bed before morning.

Before breakfast, there were stockings for everyone, including the dog. Bodie's was full of chocolate and apples, with batteries for his pocket torch and a comb for his hair. He was touched. Jennifer or Patricia had takensome care for him. He felt oddly guilty, but couldn't think why. Not because he hadn't fucked her last night. Not because he'd deceived her ever. Just that... he couldn't make it a perfect world for them, and he wanted to. He wasn't the man Jennifer needed. And she wasn't Doyle.

He looked out of the window, on new-fallen snow. The children were arriving, Jennifer's assorted nieces and nephews, and they were throwing snowballs at each other as they came up the walk. Then there was a lot of noisy talk and removing of galoshes and talk about presents and something really incredible that had happened, Aunty Jenn, though Bodie couldn't tell what the incredibly event was.

Presents were opened. Someone -- Jennifer -- gave him a jacket and he thanked her with a kiss on the cheek. There was butterscotch candy in a canister and a quartz-handled corkscrew. The children got books, records, and toys, and Sassafras got excited with all the noise. Somehow it was Jennifer and Bodie who were elected to take him for a walk.

Outside, it seemed very quiet. They went across a field, and Bodie threw a stick, watching Sassafras bound after it. Jennifer said, "Last night... I never knew you to be not interested before."

He could think of no answer.

"Have you gone off me?"

She asked it so matter-of-factly that he turned and took her hand. "Jennifer -- don't think that. It isn't you."

"Is there someone else, then?"

He shook his head, but she didn't believe the denial. He didn't know how to explain.

She hooked her arm around his. "Don't worry," she said. "I knew this would happen one day. I can be a good friend, you know. Just a friend."

It was his turn to be sceptical, but he hid it.

The Christmas meal was like in a Dickens story, except for the jelly and marshmallows and the traditional Chinese fortune cookies. Bodie's said, "Good fortune in all matters." He supposed this was encouraging.

He felt distanced from the conversation, the talk of family and friends he did not know, the memories he did not share. He was just a guest, just Jennifer's boyfriend, a former boyfriend now, though it might be a while before the rest of the family knew it. He had wanted to see what Christmas was like with all the passion of a little boy with his nose pressed to the glass, witnessing wonders he couldn't share. Now, on the other side of the wall, he wanted to be elsewhere with an equal passion.

He wanted to be at CI5 headquarters, working. He wanted to be on the chase or on surveillance or looking for witnesses; protecting a diplomat, tracking down organized crime, outsmarting the Russians - anything, just so long as it was with Doyle.

He went into the study, and looked out at the orchard, where snow hung on the apple trees.

He heard someone -- Jennifer, of course -- come in behind him.

"Standing in the dark?" she said lightly. "Something must be wrong."

"Yes," he said.

She was surprised to hear him admit it. He could tell, from her indrawn breath. "Bodie? What is it?"

"I fell in love," he said. He never thought he would say those words aloud.

"Who?" she whispered. He could hardly hear the word, except as a breath of air against his arm, as she came to stand close beside him. He could feel her unhappiness. He didn't touch her.

"No one I can have," he said lightly.

She laughed aloud in disbelief. "Who would turn you down?"

"It doesn't matter."

She said, "I hate to see you unhappy."

"Naw," he said. "I'm not unhappy. I just realized what happened, and I'm trying to get used to it. Messes around with my self-perception, you see. I thought I was independent, didn't need anyone. Never realized...."

"Never realized what?"

"Thinking you're invulnerable is the greatest weakness there is."

"I know," said Jennifer.

The question haunted him: What now?

They went back to the main room. "I have to leave," said Bodie.

There were murmurs of regret, wails from the children, who liked the way he played with them. Sass tried to lick his hand. They reminded him that he was expected to stay till Thursday, that he'd miss the Boxing Day party where everyone played hockey, and there might even be skiing if the snow kept up, or fishing if it didn't.

"No, really, I have to go," lied Bodie. "I've been called back to work, see. We're never really off duty."

The knowledge that Jennifer's friend was some sort of supercop made the boys' eyes go round, but it didn't impress the dog.

Patricia said, "Come back anytime." Her smile, both warm and sad, showed she guessed more than anyone was saying, and she knew he would not be back with Jennifer.

When he got into the car, Jennifer kissed him lightly on the lips. "It's been an adventure," she said. "Take care of yourself, Bodie." He pretended not to see the tears in her eyes.

Then he was on the road, driving back. Back to London, and reality.

Back to Doyle.

\-- THE END --

**Author's Note:**

> First published under the pseudonym Amy A. Morgan, Virtual Pros: The Christmas Edition, Bovinity Press, 1998.


End file.
